


The Captain, The Kid and The Asset

by orangeslices4scott



Category: Captain America, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blood and Violence, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, Character Death, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gunshot Wounds, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, On the Run, Parent Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeslices4scott/pseuds/orangeslices4scott
Summary: There will be consequences, should they find him. But whenever he stops to question his decision, he sees the blue eyes and feels... something. And that something is telling him he has to keep this child safe or die trying.—————It’s 1955, and a decade after Captain America ended the war and settled down, the Winter Soldier is on his first real mission. But he encounters a child that he cannot bring himself to kill.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first go at a serious work with chapters, the idea came into my head this morning and I just had to start writing it.  
> I’m not entirely sure where this is headed but I’m got a two week break from school work, which is more than enough time to figure things out.  
> One thing that is striking about Steve and Bucky’s relationship is Steve’s unrelenting forgiveness, and I thought I’d really put him to the test: could he look at Bucky the same if the Winter Soldier targeted someone close to him?  
> I also wanted to try writing for myself Bucky breaking out of Hydra’s conditioning.  
> I hope you enjoy reading :)

The soldier stands for a moment, observing his work. She lays face down on the carpet, soft brown curls hiding where the bullet entered her head. Nothing hides the crimson stain seeping into the carpet.

The husband isn’t home, his handlers made sure of it. Had he been here, they told him, the mission would’ve been impossible. But there is a child, a girl somewhere in the house. If she sees him, she has to die like her mother. If she stays hidden, if the two don’t cross paths, he can leave.

He sees her.

His hand is on the door handle when a creak from behind attracts the soldier’s attention. Turning slowly, he sees the girl halfway down the staircase, clutching the railing. The two stare at each other. Her eyes, round and scared, are a soft yet piercing blue. The soldier pauses, momentarily forgetting the gun in his hand. These eyes are familiar.

The more he stares, the more he hears his handler’s voice echoing in his ears. _Shoot, don’t think, just shoot._ But there is something about this child that flips a switch in the soldier. Everything inside him is telling him to go, to leave and to accept the consequences. He can’t kill her.

And then it hits him.

Before he knows what he’s doing, the soldier grabs one of the daggers from his belt and cuts deep into his right arm. Using the knife, he digs around a little before he locates what he’s searching for: a small metal disk with a blinking red light. A tracker. He pulls it out with the metal fingers of his left arm and tosses it onto the floor, blood dripping down his arm.

As he is hastily wrapping his wound with the limited medical supplies he carries on missions, a small sob brings his attention back up to the staircase. The soldier lifts his head and sees the girl, unable to tear her eyes away from the bloody scene she just witnessed. Any minute now, she will cry. With his tracker out, it’s only a matter of time before his handlers come to investigate. And if she cries, they will both be found and she will be killed.

Securing the makeshift bandage on his arm, the soldier takes a step towards the girl, holding a finger up to his mouth, signalling her to be quiet. She shrinks back against the stair she sits on, staring up at him uncertainly. If she’s going to make it out of this, he thinks, she needs to trust him and fast. So the soldier does the thing his handlers warned him never to do.

He takes off his goggles.

Blinking in the dim light of the hallway, he turns back to the girl. And then he does the other thing his handlers forbade him from doing.

He speaks.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice hoarse from disuse “there are some bad people coming, and you need to come with me so they can’t hurt you. Do you understand?”

She nods, eyes widening in terror. The soldier holds out his hand, his injured flesh hand, and she takes it uncertainly, rising from the staircase.

“Don’t make a sound, if they hear you they’ll come.” The soldier hisses as they make their way through the house and to the back door. He knows his handlers will be watching the front door; that’s the way he’s supposed to leave.

He opens the door as quietly as he can, flinching when it squeaks slightly. When no one comes, he lifts the girl into his arms, balancing her on his right and holding his gun tightly with his left. She’s right over where the tracker was and it feels like someone’s stabbing him over and over, but he ignores it. There are more important things to worry about than his own discomfort. Besides, if he gets caught, this’ll be nothing compared to his punishment.

Making sure to keep glancing back, the soldier scans the area. At the edge of the garden is the beginning of a forest, separated from the rest by a fence that is just barely visible. If they can get over the fence, the trees will provide enough concealment until he figures out what the hell he’s going to do next.

His footsteps are silent as he moves towards the fence, turning back every couple metres to make sure they are still alone. The fence is just a few inches taller than him, if he finds a good foothold he can easily make it over. He manoeuvres the girl onto his back, telling her quietly to hold on tight. Her arms make a ring around his neck. It’s not a lot of pressure, but he still shudders slightly. He can still feel the bruises from the last time he upset his handlers.

There’s a ridge at the bottom of the fence that he is able to slip the edge of his foot into, bringing his head higher than the fence. He peers over into the shadows, searching for any signs of movement. There aren’t any, so he pulls himself up using both his arms and swings his legs over, landing on the ground lightly. Leaves crunch under his boots and his head snaps up, waiting for an attack. He is answered by the bullet that makes a sharp _ping_ as it hits his metal arm.

The fence providing momentary coverage, the soldier swings the girl back to his front, shielding her with his back as he runs. He hears her gasp softly as she braves a look over his shoulder, telling him they are being perused. The soldier looks around for a place to hide, a vantage point where he can pick them off one by one, but there isn’t one he can reach in time. And they’re growing ever closer to the edge of a hill. If they run down the hill, his attackers will have the perfect opportunity for a headshot.

The soldier turns back, keeping the girl shielded as he raises his gun and fires at the three men on their tail. He hits one in the stomach, who drops with a yell. The second one he gets in the head. The third he slips, shooting his knee instead of his chest. Still, it’s enough to stop them, so he turns away. He’s about to continue running when he feels a heavy, screaming pain in the back of his thigh. It’s like a punch, so powerful that he overbalances. Just as they begin to skid down the steep muddy hill, he presses her close, holding her head to his chest.

***

Steve Rogers realises something is horribly wrong when he pulls up outside his home, and sees the front door standing ajar. He’s exhausted but he immediately becomes alert and aware, going round to the trunk and pulling out his shield before approaching the house. He maps out in his head every place an intruder could hide, every place he needs to check to avoid an ambush. This isn’t the first time his house has been targeted.

After searching the kitchen and coming across the back door that’s been left wide open, he deduces the intruders left. That doesn’t mean he lets his guard down. As he goes back to the hallway, he feels something small under his shoe. Steve leans down and picks up a tiny metal disk, stained with what he assumes is blood. Frowning, he stuffs it in his pants pocket and continues towards the living room.

***

The girl is surprisingly quiet over the hour or so of walking that follows their fall. Even though it would be more comfortable to get her weight off his arm, the soldier keeps her on his front. Better any stray bullets hit him rather than her.

He doesn’t know why he has acted like he has, straying from his orders and downright disobeying his handlers. There will be consequences, should they find him. But whenever he stops to question his decision, he sees the blue eyes and feels... something. And that something is telling him he has to keep the child safe or die trying.

The soldier knows it won’t be easy. He may have gotten away for now, but they’ll come back for him with larger numbers and stronger weapons. Not that he knows why exactly, but he knows they can’t just let him go.

_“Your work will be a gift to mankind. You will help shape the future into a better one.”_

That’s what they told him whenever he dared question his orders. It didn’t happen often. The soldier learnt quickly that more often than not, opening his mouth wouldn’t be worth it. But maybe that’s why they’ll hunt him down. To shape the future into a better one. Yet every time he turns and she looks at him, blonde hair tucked behind her ears, a voice in his head tells him it’s a lie. Deep down, he knows it is.

There’s also the husband. When he returns home and finds the woman on the floor, discovers the girl is missing, he’ll take action, whether that’s contacting the authorities or going after the soldier himself. But the soldier is confident one man will not be able to locate him. After all, was he not trained to disappear into the night, as though he was never there to begin with?

As the pain in his leg moves from a stabbing agony to a powerful ache, the soldier knows they need to stop so he can assess the damage. He is also fairly certain his tracker wound is bleeding through the bandage too. Squinting to see in the darkness, he spots an opening at the bottom of a hill. As they grow closer, the soldier now stumbling rather than walking, he sees that it’s a small cave, small enough that the back is visible but large enough to provide temporary shelter.

They are barely ten metres away from the cave when the soldier’s vision begins blurring. He knows he cannot faint, if he does he’ll be bled dry in a matter of hours. Just in case, he lowers the girl to the floor, keeping hold of her hand as they reach the mouth of the cave. She watches fearfully as the soldier collapses under the cover of the rocks, his ragged breaths amplified by the mask over his mouth and nose. Still afraid of being found, she doesn’t speak, just waits for him to get up.

He doesn’t.

***

“Peggy? Oh my god...”

Steve rushes over and drops to his knees beside her. He carefully turns her to face him and has to keep himself from crying out when he sees it. She’s dead, there’s no question. He leans over and presses their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes tight shut as though he can wish it all away. It’s a nightmare, it has to be. But no matter how hard he hopes, he still feels his wife’s cold skin pressed against his.

This is all his fault. He could’ve been here, he should’ve been here. If he had been here, Peggy would be alive, she’d be safe, he’d still have his family.

Steve opens his eyes, tears wetting his cheeks. He gently lays Peggy down, moving her eyelids down so he doesn’t have to look at her cold, unseeing eyes. Hands coated with blood and shaking, he stumbles in panic towards the hallway.

Not her too.

“Laurie?” Steve calls as he ascends the stairs three at a time “Laurie!”

He throws the door open to each bedroom and the bathroom just to be sure, checking under beds or anywhere she might be hiding. She’s gone.

Steve stops in the bathroom, gripping the sink to keep himself upright, running one hand through his hair. His wife is dead and his daughter is missing. Glancing up at the mirror, he stares horrified as he sees the blood streaked through his hair from his hand. It’s especially sickening because it’s _her_ blood.

His chest aches as he itches to hold her hand, to let her hold him and tell him _it’s going to be okay, just stop crying now, you big softie._ Steve can almost feel her hand on his cheek, catching his tears and wiping them away before they soaked his shirt collar. The ache grows into an intense, gnawing pain as he slips down the sink until he’s on the floor, curled in on himself and sobbing. It’s a familiar though unwelcome pain, one that keeps finding a place in his life no matter how hard he tries to move past it. His parents. Bucky. And now this.

It’s one thought and one thought alone that enables him to drag himself back up. Laurie. He didn’t find a body, which means she must still be alive.

She has to be.

Steve absentmindedly cracks his knuckles, searching his weary brain for some sort of plan. He’ll stop at nothing, that’s for sure. He’ll find her if it’s the last thing he does. But how? He doesn’t even know who took her, let alone where they might be headed. That’s when he becomes aware of the small circular thing he’d put in his pocket pressing against his thigh. Steve pulled it out and examined it. Whatever it was, it had been left behind by the attacker. He needs to find out what it is. And lucky for him, he knows just the person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next:
> 
> Steve enlists the help of an old friend.
> 
> The soldier begins to realise why he took her.


	2. Chapter 2

_The bar is slipping._

_He knows it’s hopeless, knuckles turning white from gripping so hard, legs dangling teasingly over nothing. The impact will kill him, no doubt, but not before a horrendously long fall. Now might not be the moment to admit his now completely rational fear of heights. Maybe it’s a cruel joke from some higher power. The same force that took his father was going to kill him too._

_If he wasn’t staring death in the face, maybe he’d laugh at the irony._

_A menacing creak from the metal bar acts as a blatant reminder of the situation at hand. In an attempt to tighten his hold, his hand wobbles and the bar shudders sickeningly. His heart is hammering so loud he almost doesn’t hear the shout from his right._

_“Bucky, grab my hand!”_

_He turns his head a fraction and sees..._ him _. So achingly familiar and yet a mystery, blue eyes wide and desperate as he stretches out a gloved hand._

_Fighting every instinct to hold on, he reaches out to take the offered hand, feeling somewhat hopeful. Nothing bad will happen now that he’s here._

_And that thought stays at the front of his mind as the bar comes away and the blue eyes rise out of sight._

_“BUCKY!”_

The soldier’s eyes snap open. He doesn’t like sleeping, although a look back at his predicament tells him he hadn’t really had a choice in the matter.

His breath is hot against the mask. Using his metal arm to prop himself up, he assesses the damage. A combination of dried blood and bandage had managed to stop the bleeding from his tracker wound. As he shifts into a sitting position, a sharp ache from his thigh reminds him of the gunshot wound. It strikes him as extremely odd; he should’ve bled to death by now. Judging by the light coming from outside the dingy cave that served as a hideout, he’d been out at least five hours. The soldier bends over to examine the injury, only to realise it has been clumsily wrapped in the same bandage he used for his arm and secured with a loose knot that was just barely keeping it together.

His mind races as he tightens the knot. It hadn’t been him who’d wrapped it, he’s sure he passed out almost instantly after reaching the cave. That’s when he remembers the full events of the previous night, and that he isn’t alone.

Lifting his head, he is taken aback to see the man from his dream sitting across from him, watching him curiously. He blinks, but when he looks back he instead sees the girl he spontaneously kidnapped. No, rescued. The blue eyes of his failed saviour, however, remain the same.

What remains of his medical supplies are strewn across the dirt between them, evidence that she’d gone through his pockets. One of his daggers lies near her crossed legs, he assumes she used it to cut the bandage. The most surprising thing though, is how when he meets her eyes again, he sees no fear.

It’s... comforting.

“Is your leg better now?” Her voice is quiet but not afraid; careful.

The soldier gives a small nod, unsure what to say or indeed if he should say anything. Speaking was usually off the table, unless he was asked to rattle through his latest body count. The image of the woman comes to him again.

“Did you...” he trails off, gesturing to his leg with his hand. She nods.

“Dad always says you can’t leave a cut open or it’ll get infected.” She pauses, eyes still glued to him. “What’s your name?”

He looks away, as if expecting the answer to her question to jump out at him, written on the rocky walls of their shelter. His handlers never addressed him directly, he wasn’t a person with a name. But had it always been this way?

_“Bucky!”_

“Bucky,” He says slowly after more than a second of silence. He isn’t sure if it’s true, but the name does seem to stick somewhere in his head. It’ll do for now.

“Bucky. Dad knew someone with a name like that, we’ve got a picture of him in the hall. I never met him, he died before I was born. He doesn’t say it, but it still makes him sad sometimes.” The girl stops when she sees Bucky’s vacant expression. “My name’s Laurie.”

“How old are you?” Bucky asks, distracting himself from his thoughts by collecting the equipment and storing it safely back in his hidden pockets.

“Seven.” Laurie smirked when he looked up at her in surprise. “I know I don’t look it. Dad was small too, when he was younger.”

Bucky looked back down at his leg. He hadn’t noticed that she was in fact almost comically short for a seven year old; his surprise came from how he thought she was too mature to be only seven. Maybe it came from the mother, he thought. He’d been sent after her, which probably meant she was of some importance. Perhaps she was high up politically, and had bestowed some wisdom on her daughter. But Laurie’s father seemed to be intelligent too; it was his advice, after all, that had saved Bucky’s life.

Bucky. He thought it actually kind of suited him.

***

Steve sits patiently in Howard Stark’s laboratory as he attempted to discover as much as possible about the tiny machine that had been left by the intruder. He must’ve paced for about twenty minutes before Howard asked him to stop, said it was making him anxious. So Steve had resigned himself to sitting in a chair near the door, his foot bouncing impatiently.

After four hours, Howard calls Steve over to the computer.

“I’m still not sure exactly what it is or who’s blood is all over it,” Howard shudders animatedly, “but I found out pretty early on it’s linked to some sort of database. More advanced than anything we’ve got, heck, I’ve never even seen something this complex.”

Steve looks at him and knows what Howard was getting at. The sinister feeling clawing at his stomach intensifies. “You think it’s HYDRA?”

“It’s possible.” Howard shakes his head before continuing, “For most of the time I’ve been trying to get into whatever it is this thing’s linked up to, and I think I’ve got it.”

Howard gestures to the computer screen, which looks to Steve like a jumble of letters mashed together.

“Um... what is that, exactly?”

“It’s code. For the last hour I’ve been working through it and came up with this.” Howard points at the other machine he has set up next to the computer.

“A map!” Steve says as his eyes skirt over the screen. The code had turned out to be locations and coordinates which Howard had pieced together into a somewhat coherent map. Five locations stand out to Steve, which he points out to Howard.

“Must be some sorta key locations for whoever this belongs to.” He muses thoughtfully. Steve, on the other hand, has grabbed some paper and is hurriedly scribbling down the coordinates.

“Keep the device, do what you want with it,” Steve says, patting Howard quickly before moving for the door. “Thank you, Howard.”

“Oh, Steve?”

Steve pauses at the door.

“I, um... I’m sorry about this. About Peggy. I’m gonna really miss her.”

Seeing the genuine pain in Howard’s expression is an unwelcome reminder of the reality waiting for him back home. The body had been removed about an hour before he’d come here, but now he has to return to a cold, empty house that was, just yesterday, bright and happy. Steve looks down at the paper in his hands, telling himself that all is not lost just yet.

“Me too,” He says, nodding his thanks once more before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next:
> 
> Steve’s lead grows stronger.
> 
> Bucky plans his next move.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky realises they can’t stay put forever.
> 
> Steve follows the leads Howard gave him.

Bucky lies in the dark of their hideout, staring at the ceiling as he tries to figure out his next move. Going back to the house would be idiotic, it’s no doubt under the surveillance of his handlers, and possibly others. He assumes the woman had been found by now and there would be people looking for Laurie.

He glances over at her, curled up beneath a makeshift blanket he’d fashioned by taking off his undershirt, the one specially designed to preserve heat, and cutting it open. It just barely covers her, it’s a good thing she’s so small. Her mother hadn’t been that small, and come to think of it, didn’t have the same look as her daughter, so maybe she got her physicality from her father.

Her father. Is he a threat? Maybe finding him is the smartest option. He can protect her, keep her away from them. What will he do with Bucky? Kill him, maybe. It’s not as if he deserves any better.

But that doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping the little girl away from his handlers.

She needs to eat, it’s been over a full day since it happened. Bucky knows the area, he’s fairly sure he could find somewhere to get food. But for that, he’ll need money. Maybe they’ll have to go back to the house.

Bucky doesn’t sleep. In fact, he barely feels like any time has passed when he realises it isn’t dark outside anymore. He’d spent the whole night digging around in his head, trying to formulate a plan. And the man on the train is still up there too, clinging to his thoughts just as he’d been clinging to the railing.

_“Just go! Get out of here!”_

_“No, not without you!”_

Stop it. He knows it’s counterproductive, attempting to unearth these memories he isn’t even sure are his. It’ll only slow him down, and slowing down could get them both killed.

His mind is made up by the time Laurie wakes up, an hour or so later. Her blonde hair is cut to just above her shoulders, and is visibly tangled. He watches as she uncomfortably pushes it behind her ears. It makes him think about his own hair. Usually Bucky doesn’t feel the dark strands brushing the sides of his face but now he feels every single one of them, shiny with sweat. He has to fight the urge to chop it right there and then with the knife sitting in his belt. It feels... wrong.

“Do you... do you want me to...” he says quietly, gesturing to his own hair. The girl nods gently, eyes focused intently on his face, still mostly concealed behind the mask. That’s something he’s noticed about her: whenever he speaks, albeit not often, she gives him her full attention. It’s almost as if she knows how hard it is.

“Yes, please.”

Bucky slides over to sit behind her, suddenly aware once again of how small she actually is. He lifts his left hand then lowers it, raising his right instead as he begins to comb through her hair gently with his fingers. Whenever he comes to a knot he slows down, easing his fingers through without pulling on it. The motion comes with practiced ease, which surprises him.

Before he even thinks about what he’s doing, he’s braiding her hair too, fingers both metal and flesh working quickly and effortlessly. He gets her to hold onto the end, pulling at the lace of his boot and cutting the end off to make a hair tie. As he takes the braid back to tie the end his finger - his real one - brushes her cheek. Laurie hears the man’s slight inhale at the contact.

“Thank you, Bucky,” she says when he’s tied it, reaching up to feel it with her own hand. He nods slightly, shifting back to the opposite side as if he’s scared she’ll lash out at him. It’s clear he hadn’t thought about it until he was doing it, hadn’t realised that he shouldn’t care about her. Strictly speaking, he should never have spoke to her in the first place, but that was different. He doesn’t deserve her looking at him like she does, like he’s human. Like he isn’t the ghost who murdered her mother.

“I need to go back to your house, try to find some supplies. I’ll be back before it gets dark. Just stay hidden, don’t want them to find you.” He mumbles, crawling out of the cave and standing up, stretching his leg and testing its strength. The gunshot still stings, but it’s nothing he hasn’t felt before. Bucky turns back before he goes, waiting for confirmation that she understands. Laurie nods, a small smile on her face as she watches her soldier disappear into the woods. She still doesn’t really know why she isn’t afraid of him, why she hasn’t tried to get away. There’s just an unexplainable feeling in her gut, in her heart, telling her to trust him. He’ll keep her safe.

Bucky remembers their route from the journey/fall from two nights ago vividly. Even if he hadn’t remembered it, he would be able to find his way quickly. Part of being a ghost meant knowing the area; you can’t cease to exist if you don’t know where all the exits are.

He gets flashes as he walks. It’s unnerving, images and voices cycling through his head at breakneck speed. The pieces he manages to hold onto only confuse him more.

_“I told you! They’re all idiots.”_

_“You get your orders?”_

_“Ma, stop cryin’, nothin’s gonna happen over there.”_

_“My sweet boys.”_

_“This ain’t right... but I want it.”_

_“You had a nightmare, honey? It’s alright, come sit up with me for a while.”_

Stop it. _Stop it._

The house is there. It’s sitting the same as it was before, as if no one’s been in since. Bucky noiselessly climbs over the fence and tries the back door. It’s unlocked.

He finds himself in the living room. The body is gone, only an eerily bright bloodstain on the carpet serving as evidence of that night. It seems more pleasant in the day, he thinks, as he glances around looking for anything he might need. There’s a unit against the wall behind the couch, an array of photo frames lining the top with three drawers underneath. Sure enough, in the back of the second drawer there’s an emergency roll of bills secured with a rubber band. That’d probably make a better hair tie than a piece of his shoelace.

Bucky doesn’t find much else in the drawers. He straightens up, pausing to look at the photos before moving to the kitchen. Most of them are of Laurie, some with her mother and some of her alone. Behind these are photos of other people, a young man with a moustache and cocky smirk arm in arm with the mother, an older photo of a beautiful, slightly older woman with long, fair hair. And one of a young man with bright eyes, dark hair combed neatly to one side and an army uniform. He was smiling, his eyes crinkling in the corners, looking at someone behind the camera like they were his everything and more. Looking at it makes Bucky’s breathing accelerate, sound amplified by the mask he still wore. This isn’t something he’s meant to see, he can feel it. He goes to turn away but another photo catches his eye. Laurie’s in this one, snuggled into the arms of who Bucky assumes is her father. His eyes are drawn to the man, his fond smile as he looks down at the sleeping child in his lap. His sharp nose, structured jawline, light hair brushed out of his face, long eyelashes hiding soft yet piercing blue eyes.

Her eyes.

The man on the train.

_“Bucky!”_

“...Steve?”

***

Steve pulls up round the back of the building on his motorcycle, pulling out his scribbled map to make sure he’d got it right. This was the final location. He’s worried that the map is simply a distraction, the other four locations being civilian houses or remote, hidden areas where there was barely any sign of life for miles. And if it is a ploy to send him on the wrong trail, he’s back to nothing. And with Laurie’s life on the line, nothing isn’t an option.

With the shield strapped tight to his left arm, he proceeds cautiously, moving around the perimeter. From the outside, it seems like an abandoned storage facility. That’s what it seems like on the inside too, until he notices a trapdoor under a pile of boxes.

The shield feels like a weight on his arm, he thinks as he moves the boxes. Not literally, vibranium is extremely lightweight. No, the thing itself isn’t heavy. It’s the memories that come with it, the battles, the long journeys. The losses.

Peggy, hurt blazing in her eyes, aiming her gun at it.

Bucky pushing aside his terror and picking it up when Steve himself couldn’t.

Steve opens the trapdoor, revealing a ladder that descends so deep underground he can barely see the floor. After another careful scan of the room, he begins the climb, praying he’ll find something, anything, to point him in the right direction.

He climbs and climbs and climbs and climbs. It takes so long that even with the serum his arm start to ache and his hands stiffen more with each rung of the ladder. At long last, his boots hit the floor and he turns around, his eyes widening at what he sees. It looks to him like an office of some sort, rows of desks with outdated computers covered in dust. Only the emergency light is on, casting shadows over the aged technology. Steve tries each of the computers in turn, but none of them work anymore.

The panic is rising in his chest again, he feels it fighting with the adrenaline to take him over, render him completely helpless. But he knows he can’t break, not now, when he’s close to his answers. He can feel it.

There isn’t much else in the room, only a small filing cabinet in the corner furthest from the ladder. Steve pulls out the drawers, shifting through the files one by one.

That’s when he finds the file labelled актив.

His breath catches in his throat as he sees the photo on the first page. It’s a man in some sort of chamber, frozen, his skin ghostly pale and his cracked lips almost blue with the cold. His eyes are closed but he looks anything but peaceful. Steve feels goosebumps crawl up his skin as an unsettling familiarity sinks into his chest. He looks down and there, clipped to the bottom of the awful photo, is a smaller one of a handsome young soldier, eyes big and bright and ready to take on the world.

If only he’d known what was coming.

“Bucky...”

Steve’s hands tremble as he struggles to keep hold of the file, tears threatening to fall any second. And maybe they would’ve, if he hadn’t been hit in the head with the butt of a gun and knocked out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next:
> 
> Bucky starts to find pieces of himself again.
> 
> His handlers catch up with them.
> 
> It’s been horrifically long since I last updated, partly because I wasn’t sure where to go with it and partially because hey, I forgot. I’ve got a better idea about where I’m heading with this now, and it was fun to come back to it. Anyway, thanks for reading :)


End file.
